


Lazy Sundays

by MaggieP



Category: Green Day
Genre: F/M, Green Day - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieP/pseuds/MaggieP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all love lazy Sundays, but Adrienne has one more reason to love them.<br/>One shot. (soft porn, I guess)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Sundays

**Author's Note:**

> ***DON'T OWN DON'T SUE***

She loves lazy Sundays.

She loves his messy pillow hair, his wrinkled worn-out t-shirt that smells like sleep. Lazy Sundays are the rare occasions where his gaze in never lost but always fixed on her, where his mind is at peace, where his hands touch nothing but her and the only music is the sound of his laughter.

She loves how time passes by so fast, how they don’t need to feel any awkward silence simply because there is no awkward silence. It seems like what people describe in novels or what helplessly romantic teenagers dream of; a day filled with kisses, touches, caresses and I love you’s.

She loves the sound of his breath, he feeling of his pulse beneath her palms, the scent of his hair. She likes how the cracks of their hands fit perfectly, like they were molded, made, born to be together. His small gasps every time her lips plant butterfly kisses on his neck make her feel warm inside. Her cold feet brushing against his legs make him giggle and it sounds like bubbles popping.

She loves how her skin looks like it’s made out of pure gold in the late afternoon sunlight, his hands traveling from her neck to her thigh barely touching her. After all these years, he still looks at her and touches her with the same admiration. She doesn’t need to hide anything. Her flaws are invisible to him.

She loves how they trace each other’s tattoos, like reading colorful diaries of each other’s life. She brushes her name that’s inked on his skin, and he kisses his name on her shoulder, vows and promises for the rest of eternity.

She loves the heat of his breath when he leans close to her, his lips touching hers so lightly like a whisper. Her name on his lips, followed by three simple words with a complex meaning, a secret to take to her grave. The taste of his smile on his lips, the wrinkles around his mouth, proof of a life full of laughter.

She loves how slowly his smile fades off his face, his eyes locked with hers, his hands cupping her cheeks, rubbing his nose on hers like a kitten. He doesn’t resist when she puts her hand on the back of his neck to bring him in a deep kiss, a kiss that leaves them both short of breath. His lips burn holes on her neck, her collar bones, the curve of breasts, her ribs. His teeth scrape the sensitive skin of her hip bone, her fingers lost in his hair. She never knew she liked being kissed on the back of her knee.

She loves the heat of his body burning her thighs when he crawls between them to place soft kisses on her wet skin, a place where only he can touch, kiss, make it burn like liquid fire. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and when she sees him grin in satisfaction she can’t help but pull him back up.

She loves the feeling of his ruff facial hair beneath her fingertips. She registers his cheek bones, his jawline, his neck like a map. She knows every line, every curve, every scar of his body but every time it feels like the first time.

She loves the sound of him inhaling sharply when her fingers get hooked in his waistband of his boxers. His stomach twitches at her touch when she circles his belly button with her thumb. He flashes that crooked smile again, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth when her hand slips underneath the soft fabric, circling hard and warm flesh with her fingers. His own hand finds its way between her legs causing her toes to curl.

She loves the sound of the tiny, barely audible moan that slips from his lips to join hers when he pushes himself inside of her. Slow and confident movements, muscles tensing under her hands, shaky breath against her neck, hot palm sliding from her face to the creamy curve of her hip; synchronised movements, like a dance to a music only they can hear.

She loves the way he turns on his back, letting her lead the game with the fluid movements of her hips. Her hair falls like a curtain around their faces, blocking the outside world; they don’t need anything or anyone… All she needs is right here. She doesn’t need to see his face; she car hear his smile in his breath, in the sound of her name. The sun rises in her chest.

She loves it when his calloused fingers trace her spine from the back of her neck to the small of her back and back up again. This is the best kind of shiver a person can have. His hands get lost in her hair, pulling back her head, gently, to give himself more room to nibble her skin and she closes her eyes surrendering to his presence.

She loves the way she feels when she is close to finding her release, like falling from the highest heights. Strong arms around her waist and he is in control and, good God, it’s pure bliss. Their voices sound like harmonies, like backing vocals of a love song; low, raspy and deep. He digs his nails in her skin, holding on to the last moment before it’s over.

She loves the sound of his heartbeat when she lies on his chest, panting and smiling.

She loves the warmth of his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight against him, kissing her forehead.

She loves how they can do this again and again and again, and never getting tired of it. Every time feels like discovering a hidden treasure.

She loves everything, especially lazy Sundays.


End file.
